Trophy for Eagles by Walter J. Boyne Read Free Book Online

pilot, that a pursuit pilot always had to be convinced that he was the best in the world. He gave me the same stupid fucking spiel that every dumb-ass would-be Ricken-backer gives at every officers'-club bar in the world. Half of them couldn't fight their way out of a morning report, but they've got to act like they are killers."
    Lindbergh was plainly surprised by the sudden vehemence. "Well, he asked me that too, but I knew what he wanted. I told him that I was the best in the world. I really thought you were, but there was no sense in telling Westerfield that. But I still can't believe that he'd wash you out about that, either. He was a dumb-ass, all right, but that wouldn't have done it."
    Bandfield was somewhat mollified. "No, except that I got mad, and I told him that if the average pursuit pilot's brains were dynamite, he couldn't blow his nose."
    Lindbergh laughed. "That would do it. But it still wasn't fair."
    They were quiet a moment. Bandfield was painfully aware of the character flaws that made life difficult for him. He had a reckless drive to prove himself right at any cost, one that had marred his record at Berkeley, and probably stemmed from the dogged argu ments he used to have with his father over everything he did. He didn't mind being wrong—but when he knew he was right, he was inflexible. And he hated to be pushed around, especially by a guy like Westerfield, who held all the cards. When he was pushed, he had to push back. He wouldn't have made a good officer.
    "Let's get down to the important stuff. How far did you go with Maria? I could tell that she thought you were the bee's knees."
    Bandfield grinned. He hadn't gotten very far with Maria, and it had pushed him damned close to marrying her, despite the fact that she was Mexican, Catholic, and only eighteen. One night he had brought her back from a long, tender, and chaste walk to find her father and three brothers waiting on the tumbledown porch of their frame shack. He'd been glad to get away with only her tears to worry about. He should have realized that the old man would have considered Captain Westerfield to be a real catch, not to be compared with some raggedy-ass cadet.
    "We were pretty well chaperoned most of the time, and Maria was a good girl."
    "What happened after that?"
    Bandfield felt his good humor gradually being restored. As bad as he'd felt after washing out, things were working out for the best.
    "I was really lucky, Slim. I got a job flying Douglas M-2s for Western Air Express when it was starting up. Ever flown one?"
    "Yeah, I got to fly most all the different air-mail planes after I went back to civilian life. The M-2 is just a bigger, better DH-4. Of course, most anything's better than a DH-4. I've bailed out of two of them and crash-landed another."
    Bandfield was silent, remembering the terror of his own parachute jump, wondering if he'd have the nerve to throw himself into the black void of a Midwestern night as Lindbergh had done. Slim had been lucky: his chute had worked each time. He had only to gather up the mail from the crashed airplane and catch the next train to his destination. It was only a little more than par for the air-mail course, flying rebuilt de Havillands at night, in weather, without instruments.
    "Where did you get that airplane, Bandy? It makes my poor old Ryan look like a tin lizzie."
    Bandfield flushed with pleasure. "Hadley Roget's a building fool, I tell you. A little stubborn maybe, but he can make airplanes."
    "I heard about him when I was out on the Coast, working on the Spirit. He's supposed to have built some radical airplanes over the years."
    "That's the guy. We designed it and worked on the drawings and the engineering for almost a year. We started cutting wood in March. It still needs some fine-tuning, but I think it's ready."
    "Man, I know what you mean. We really threw the Ryan together in San Diego. The Ryan company was great; they did everything I wanted, if it could be done. If it